Evolution
by PsYcHiC-pSyChO
Summary: when the body of an agent turns up on the psychonauts doorstep sasha and milla are recruited to get to the bottom of the mysterious death but they both realise all too late that their involvement in the case puts their own lives in danger milla/sasha
1. Prologue

Prologue

Psychic torture was possibly the worst ordeal for a human to have to experience. Particularly if that person was psychic themselves; the trauma from the incident was thought to be doubled in such a case. Charles Stanton now fully understood the truth of this concept.

Strapped to a lone chair in an otherwise empty room, Stanton had endured all of the interrogation he could take. In a secret part of his guarded mind, contrary to the usual branch of thought for anything living, he wished with the entirety of his heart that the terrorists that had captured him would end his life swiftly. Instead of prolonging this horrible pain for a moment longer.

As he struggled again against his flawless restraints the door of the small cell creaked open ominously and the bright light above the prisoner blazed down, momentarily blinding both the entering interrogator and his hostage. The man approached his weakened opponent strongly, a heavy black case gripped tightly in his tough hands. He knelt beside the chair as he had always previously done, but tired of playing lengthy mind games with this psychic.

"Where did you hide the device?" he whispered threateningly. Stanton tried to appear unmoved, though he had clearly been through enough torture that he was moments away from giving in. When the hostage did not reply, the interrogator seemed to shrug and clicked open the case he had brought with him, inside of which were all manner of tools and devices intended for the torture of any psychic. This too did not faze the hostage; he had already experienced anything these terrorists had to show him. The interrogator removed a long thin rod from the case and pressed it to the man's skull.

"Where did you hide it?" he repeated slower, fingering the button on the weapon that would send a sharp electric current racing through the hostages mind if he chose not to answer. After a moments silence the interrogator squeezed the small switch and watched, satisfied as the man flinched horribly.

He repeated the question several times, every time he received no response and sent another painful shock through the psychic's tender mind. It was enough, Charles Stanton had decided through the excruciating pain. As he gave in and spoke the few words which had previously halted the terrorists from ending his life and prepared for the death that surely awaited him, his last few thoughts were for the agency he had served faithfully for many years.

_Forgive me Truman_, he begged. _I wasn't strong enough_.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Curls of twisting smoke danced up to the ceiling from the tip of a cigarette, half extinguished in a polished silver ash tray. Files and other professional papers were scattered across the top of the desk, some stained by the ink of an old leaking pen, others by the sweet dark coffee carelessly spilt down the sides of a clean black mug. Though the office was only lit by the shafts of light slipping though the window blinds, the entire scope of the room was free of any dust or grime as though it was frequently polished. The straight metal of the stylish modern desk and chair was not dirtied by the thin layer of dust most commonly seen in the agency's offices, nor was the tall strong filing cabinet which was pressed against the back wall blackened by soot. The updated computer that sat on the desk itself had a cleaned screen and no grime clogged the professional keyboard and dynamic mouse. Even the agent's phone, which was rarely used due to the fact he chose not to answer it, was surprisingly clean; as was the polished metal plaque which hung ominously on the cold, pale wall reading: "Ich denke, also bin ich." Actually, apart from the casual mess on the desk top, which was no doubt the result of a hasty departure that morning, the office was very controlled and would impose on any entering guest a certain amount of orderliness and professionalism.

But the office was not to have any sort of manner of guests just yet. Instead the desk phone began to call out, breaking the shut in silence of the abandoned office haltingly. After a few moments of unanswered ringing, the noise abruptly stopped and then began again; the caller having an urgent need to contact the famous German agent. When the phone rang out in the abandoned office for a third time, still receiving no answer, the caller seemed to give up, retiring his phoning attempts for the moment, and instead leaving a short message with the agents answering machine. He hoped that it would not be too long before he received a returning call.

It seemed that Agent Nein was out for the day.

* * *

Perched on a rather roughly made wooden bench, overlooking what many would refer to as a pristine lake, Agent Sasha Nein was wondering if his decision to leave his work earlier that day was indeed necessary. Certainly he did enjoy the odd break from the office now and then but presently he was quite tied up with paperwork and research; work that certainly needed to be completed soon. At the ripe age of thirty-seven the German born agent had passed through quite a few jobs already, from shoemaking to working in a factory production line, but most of the jobs he had been hired for had not at all suited his logical and creative thirst for knowledge. It was only his current profession as a Psychonaut that had offered the pale-skinned, dark-haired scientist any lasting happiness.

He glanced at his digital watch for the twentieth time that hour and let out a short sigh. _Really_, he thought, amused at the current situation. _She's even late for her_ own _emergencies_. As he returned his gaze to the lake once more, concentrating his focus on a flock of birds resting at the water's edge a woman, her hands full of groceries, a small child seated in the pram before her, rattled past the wooden bench. Sasha watched as the child lost his tight grip on the equally small bear he had been hugging. Seeing the woman had her hands already full, he bent down to the cherish toy, brushed it off and gently handed it back to the seated toddler. The woman offered him a soft smile; it was obvious she was quite pleased with his kindness. Then she moved on, busy with her own worries and problems. Sasha watched her go, taking note of the child who gripped the ragged bear to his chest protectively. While he was momentarily distracted with the mother and child, the agent failed to notice the woman who was directly approaching him until she had seated herself down on the bench as well.

Milla Vodello was not in any way as hard-working or studious as her respected partner, though surely she was quite respected in her own unique way. She was a dancer, highly heard of in many social groups, appearing on television quite regularly. As an agent she was kind and caring and on occasion seemed to even hold certain sympathy for her enemies. She also was an expert on improvisation; a skill that had meant she was talented at most fieldwork, and ensured her partnership to the oppositely thoughtful and calculating Sasha Nein.

The Brazilian beauty carefully sat down beside him smiling. At hand she had two cups of dark steaming coffee and didn't appear at all frantic or worried; which were often common traits for someone who claimed that there was currently a definite emergency.

Sasha glanced at the fresh coffee his partner held out to him and realised Milla's 'emergency' was most definitely not that. He took the offered drink gladly, having had to abandon his own coffee back at work, and raised his eyebrows. Milla blushed slightly, knowing all too well that her German counterpart was not too impressed with her small white lie.

"Sorry, darling." She explained, sipping from her own cup tentatively. "Only way to get you out of your office."

He was not at all upset; as a general rule Agent Nein refused to hold a grudge against anyone for too long, especially those who had done nothing to upset him in the first place and knew where to buy the finest coffee in town. He took a welcome gulp of drink himself and smiled, savouring the momentary escape from his dark, crowded workspace. He was just glad that Milla had chosen a rather nice _sunny_ day for stealing him away from his work this time. A soaking wet turtle-neck sweater was not at all comfortable to wear.

"I didn't interrupt anything important?"

Sasha shook his head which comforted his partner gladly. "Paperwork." She laughed at the mediocre but necessary agency task. Sasha had long since removed her from any regulatory duties; a rather chivalrous favour for which she was always thankful. He was better at that kind of business anyway.

Milla didn't bother asking if he'd like any help filling out his latest stack of forms and reports for she knew that he would certainly refuse, arguing that he could handle it fine on his own. Fifteen years was a long time to have known someone she decided, considering that it was almost half her lifetime, and she and Sasha had reached a certain part of their relationship where words were, most of the time, unnecessary. They knew and understood each other well enough to leave well enough alone.

Still, the German seemed unusually quite at the moment. "Something wrong?" She asked him carefully, aware of the fact that if Sasha had wanted to share what he was thinking about he would have done so already, without her prompt. His gaze remained on the lake as he answered her slowly.

"No. Just _that_ feeling."

She knew exactly what he meant; with both of them being psychic it made hard to explain situations easier. "Like someone's trying to contact you?" she offered.

Before her partner could reply, there was a tinny artificial noise between them: a ringing. Agent Nein reached into his pocket and produced the mobile phone on which Milla had called him on earlier. The slim, flat, black device slid open at the agents touch. The small, coloured screen displayed the caller's I.D. Truman Zanotto: Psychonauts Grand Head. The partners exchanged knowing glances: Sasha's psychic instincts had again been spot on.


End file.
